Free to a Loving Home
by InterNutter
Summary: Rated for some language. The X-Men want a pet. Ororo, unfortunately, is allergic; and there's a 'no pets' rule. Mayhem ensues.


Disclaimer: If I owned, this'd be an episode. But since I don't, it  
isn't. All the same, please don't steal?  
  
Archiving: email cat@devil.com and ask nice.  
  
Code-o-rama:  
*bla* - emphasis  
_bla_ - thoughts or italics  
{bla} - sound effect  
[bla] - foreign language  
  
Summary: Various X-Men try to side-step the "no pets" rule at the  
Institute, only to find that Storm's allergies are remarkably more  
accurate than Wolverine's sense of smell is at finding them out.  
  
Free to a Loving Home  
InterNutter  
  
"HA-AAA... *CHOO*!"  
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"  
"Not Mr Pinchy!"  
Xavier sighed. "I've told you before, students. The 'no pets' rule is  
there for a reason."  
"HaaaaAAAAAA... *CHOO*!" Storm blew her nose for the umptieth time.  
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"  
"Jamie... shut *up*..."  
"But he's gonna throw out Mr Pinchy... (gaspgasp) WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"  
Mr Pinchy sat somewhat damply in the middle of an old newspaper. He  
was, for the record, a stray puppy that owed most of its heritage to a  
terrier.  
It wouldn't be so bad if the kids didn't try something like this every  
other week.  
"HA-CHOO! HA-CHOO! HA-CHOO!" Ororo covered her nose and moaned. "I  
*swear*, I'b dot doi'g this od purbose..." she sniffed. "I'b jusd  
allergig."  
"Yeah," said Evan. "Aunty O's allergic to just about anything with  
*fur*."  
"Ahem," said Hank, who stood to his left.  
"Oh yeah?" said Kurt, who sat on his right.  
"You guys don't count. You're *human*," at Jamie's raised hand, he  
added, "And so's Rahne, even when she's a wolf."  
"An' I don't need to be taken fer walks, so don't even ask," said  
Rahne.  
"Please don't throw out Mr Pinchy?" Jamie begged.  
Mr Pinchy wet the newspaper again. He looked immensely pleased with  
himself.  
"We're not going to throw him out on the streets," sighed Scott.  
"We're just going to call the animal shelter," said Jean.  
"WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"  
"NO! They'll destroy him!"  
Kitty started crying too, after a squeaked, "Not Mr Pinchy-eeeeee..."  
Kurt moved to comfort her, unshed tears making his eyes bright.  
"As Princess of Nova Roma, I *command* you to spare the - creature."  
Amara curled her lip at the dog. Just a few minutes ago, she'd declared  
it the primary source for uncleanliness for the entirety of the United  
States.  
Mr Pinchy attempted to scratch his ear and missed.  
"He kinda grows on ya," said Ray. "'Sides, the mutt and the runt  
belong together."  
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"  
Jubes sighed and patted his shoulder. "Maybe we could put an ad in the  
paper? Free to a loving home?"  
"At least then we'd *know* he'd be okay," said Roberto.  
"And maybe Jamie will stop *crying* for five consecutive seconds,"  
added Amara.  
"...haaaAAAA-*CHOO*!"  
Anything to stop another headache. "All right. I'll compose an ad to  
put in the Bayville Herald. In the meantime, the puppy is to stay  
*strictly* in Jamie's room - and you are *all* to keep it clean."  
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYY!"  
  
Free to a loving home: One male terrier X pup. Almost housebroken.  
Call any time between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
"mew! mew!"  
It was a voice too tiny to have anything to do with capital letters.  
Kurt triangulated its source. There was a kitten in the middle of the  
road, crying for its mother.  
As a fellow fur-bearing, part-time quadruped, he had to help. _I'm  
going to regret this..._ He crossed the road, scooping up the kitten on  
his way.  
"mew!"  
"Missing your Mutter, ja? I can't help you there, I'm afraid."  
"mew?"  
He sighed. "Come on then, kleine katzchen. I should get you some  
proper food, eh? You're far too young to be away from your mother..."  
And that was where even more trouble started.  
  
Kitty ambled past Kurt's door, thinking of nothing very much, when she  
heard it.  
"That's the way, meine Katzchen. *Good* girl."  
_What the--?_  
"Drink up, liebe. I got *just* what you need."  
Kitty had to retrace her steps and peek into Kurt's room. Kurt was  
sitting with his back to the door. Talking to something or someone she  
couldn't see.  
And she thought *she* was 'Katzchen'...  
Kitty snuck into his room in order to gain some perspective into what  
he was talking too. _I swear, if he's gone wierd like Lance's friends  
and has started playing with *dolls*, I am like *so* out of here._  
Kurt giggled. "Those tiny claws are *sharp*, kleine Katzchen. Watch  
where you put them, ja?"  
There was a small bundle of something in one of Kurt's hands. He was  
attempting to feed it with a bottle. It looked something like a tribble  
from Star Trek. Then it moved, and it had a paw.  
"*Oh*," she blurted. Scaring the heck out of Kurt. "It's a baby  
Kitten."  
Kurt recovered his breath. "Katzchen, *please*... You made all my  
tail-fur stand on end."  
Kitty looked. It was rather fluffier than usual, but with Kurt's short  
fur, it was hard to tell unless he told someone. "Sorry. I just like,  
*had* to see who you were like, talking to."  
The tiny bundle of fur in his hand squirmed some more, sort-of opening  
its eyes to look at Kitty. Her namesake was a tortishell, and clearly  
not old enough to be away from her mother.  
"She was sitting in the middle of the road and crying," Kurt said, "So  
I rescued her. I have no idea how she got there. She's a little young  
for exploring. Maybe somebody was being cruel... but she doesn't seem  
hurt."  
"So you're playing Mom," Kitty had to smile. "That's kinda cute.  
Technically *illegal*, but cute."  
"Ja. I know. No pets." Kurt sighed. "But I couldn't hand her across to  
the shelter to have her destroyed. Not after I just saved her life. So -  
I just adopted her."  
"So how are you like, getting around Ororo and Logan?"  
"I brush her after every feed," Kurt grinned, picking up a toothbrush  
with his tail. "She's a little small for Opa's brushes, so I got this  
for her. Then I just toss the shed fur and dander out the window. Logan  
thinks there's a stray cat around, somewhere, and Frau Storm is never  
bothered by animals out of doors."  
"Yeah, like, what's *up* with that?"  
"I haven't the faintest. I just go here." Kurt smiled.  
The kitten let go of the bottle, yawned, and curled back up into a  
ball.  
"She looks like a tribble when she does that."  
"Vas? Like on SternTrek? Kapitan Kirk and that?"  
"Yeah." Kitty giggled. "Can I like, help brush her?"  
His tail tickled her palm as he 'handed' the toothbrush over. "Be  
gentle, ja? She's just a baby."  
The Kitten didn't even squirm. In fact, she started to purr.  
"There's a good little tribble," Kitty cooed.  
"Tribble? You think that's a good name for her?"  
"Why not?"  
Kurt shrugged. "Tribble she is, then."  
Tribble reacted to her new name by sinking her claws into Kitty's  
hand.  
"That's Cat for 'more'," Kurt supplied.  
  
Kitty gently shut Kurt's door, having sneaked in some kitten food and  
done the litter-tray thing while Kurt was off helping Ororo shop.  
Tribble was sound asleep and not due for any more feeds for a couple of  
hours. She'd set her alarm, just to be sure.  
At least she was getting plenty of practice on her mental shields,  
what with Jean popping in on her every other minute because she felt  
something was up. Who knew how Kurt was handling it; but personally,  
Kitty felt like a nervous wreck.  
At least Ororo hadn't started sneezing yet. *That* was a relief.  
Kurt's strategy was so totally working. So far, anyway.  
Kitty sank down into the couch in the common room with a sigh. So far,  
so good. She seemed to be thinking that a lot, lately.  
Everything was OK.  
She could relax.  
"So," said Rahne, who'd been reading a book during Kitty's entire  
excercise. "How's the wee cat?"  
Kitty stared at her while her heartrate accelerated to record levels.  
"Could you like, tell the *world* next time, maybe?"  
"I'm not that loud," said Rahne, "but yer guilt sure is. Relax. I  
smelled 'er on Kurt t'other day an' I've yet to say a word to anyone  
who's not in on it."  
"So how did *you* like, know I was like, in on it?"  
Rahne angled a look at her. "Come on. Yer jumpier than a cat in a  
kindergarden..."  
"Okay, you like totally have a point. Now what do I like, have to do  
to help you like, not tell anyone?"  
Rahne grinned.  
  
Jean tried another light scan. Cool. No-one seemed to be around. It  
seemed that every time she got *near* Kurt's room, someone was there in  
her path, forcing her to make up some excuse.  
Of course she knew about the kitten. She'd busted Kurt when he was  
still smuggling in basic equipment for baby kitten care. She'd just  
decided not to tell until it became blatantly obvious that there was a  
pet in the house.  
In the meantime, she had the cutest little fluffball to play with, and  
she wasn't talking about Kurt.  
Quietly, very quietly, she nudged Kurt's door open, trying not to make  
the hinge creak. She didn't want to wake the kitten if it was asleep.  
Turns out, a bunch of other people were helping Tribble to play.  
Right now, Ray had the little creature attempting to 'kill' his hand,  
much to everyone's quiet amusement.  
Well, at least she knew why everyone was being so secretive, lately.  
One of the crowd noticed her and muttered, "Oh crap..."  
Jamie bit his trembling lower lip.  
Rahne stood between her and the animal. "She's too small to go to a  
shelter," she said. "They'd just kill her outright. Ye can't force us  
to do such a thing. We'll fight ye if we have to."  
Jamie sniffled.  
"Relax," Jean soothed. "I came to visit her, too."  
"You - knew?" said Jubilee. "But I didn't tell *anyone*. I swear!"  
"It's okay," she said, closing the door and crossing to the huddle so  
she could whisper, "I busted Kurt when he was moving Tribble in. As soon  
as he explained, I took a bribe."  
"Lemme guess," whispered Amara. "Visiting rights."  
{Bamf!}  
The assembled crowd looked at Kurt, who simply dropped the small  
shopping bag he carried and crumpled into a heap.  
"I'm guessing," said Jean, "that some of you didn't bother to tell  
*Kurt* that you knew."  
"Uuhhh..."  
Jean checked him, and gave him a bit of a psychic 'nudge' to wake up.  
"Ididn'tmeanit, Iswear!" he said, panicked. "She'stooyoungtogotoashelteryet!   
They'djustkillher... Uh? Jean? Vas ist--?"  
Jean sighed. "Relax. It's just us. So far, no adults are involved."  
"Don't worry," said Jubes. "We can keep a secret."  
Kurt's tail-fur stood on end. "Somehow," he squeaked, "that isn't as  
reassuring as you'd think..."  
"Hey, chill *out*," said Ray. "We're responsible. We can handle a  
secret."  
"Yeah, we even gave her something for her little flea," said Roberto.  
"You guys gave her a *flea*?" Kurt blurted.  
Rahne blushed. "That was probably my fault," she murmured. "Sorry."  
"Ach..." Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later,  
someone's going to ask why so many people like to hang around in here."  
"Hey, K-man. Take it easy," Evan smoothed. "We can draw up a schedule  
or something."  
"Yeah," chirped Kitty. "I've got this totally kick-ass randomiser? It  
can help us like, visit casual."  
"...I'm doomed..." Kurt murmured.  
Jean patted him on the shoulder.  
  
That dinnertime, however, things started to go wrong.  
"Jean," said Storm. "Could you pass the-aaaaah... aaaa*aaaahhhh*...  
HA-CHOO!"  
Everyone at the table kind-of froze.  
"HA-CHOO! HA-CHOO! HA-CHOO!" Ororo blew her nose. "Urgh... I just  
wanted some pepper," she managed.  
"Sounds to me like you've had enough already," said Kurt, after he  
cleared his throat to make sure that what he said came out in the right  
octave.  
One eyebrow quirked above Scott's red shades as he glared in Kurt's  
direction.  
Kurt gave him a _Who? Me?_ look that could have won him an oscar.  
Jamie became intensly interested in poking his broccoli with a fork.  
Evan began to hum. Unfortunately for him, he was humming, _What's New,  
Pussycat?_ and as a direct result, Ray kicked him in the shin.  
Amara punched Ray in the arm, and she, in turn, was finger-swatted by  
Jubes.  
"Like, knock it off," Kitty hissed at her.  
_All of you knock it off,_ Jean thought at the entire Tribble-clique.  
_You're looking suspicious._  
Roberto cleared his throat. "So, uh... I hear someone's been writing a  
new Danger Room program. Is it any good?"  
  
"All right, Kurt," Scott said as he barged into the elf's room. "What  
the hell is going on and why haven't I been told?"  
"Going on?" Kurt babbled. "Why should anything be going on? Nobody's  
said anything to *me* about anything going on. You know I'm the last  
link on the grapevine. Nobody tells me anything. What could *possibly*  
be going on?"  
{skrtch skrtch skrtch scrtch}  
_What the--?_ Scott looked around, but saw nothing awry.  
{scrtch scrtch scrtch scrtch}  
"What the heck *is* that?" he asked.  
"Mice?" said Kurt. Sweat was beading on his fur.  
Scott sighed and picked Kurt up by his shirtfront. "Okay. Who has the  
pet?"  
"Pet? What pet? Don't you know that pets are banned in here? Who could  
have a pet? *I* certainly don't know."  
"*Kurt*..." said Scott. "I know you. Whenever you babble like that,  
you're *nervous* about something. I'm not a complete idiot, you know. I  
can tell when something's up."  
"Up? Up where?" Kurt looked at his ceiling. "Nothing on *my* roof. Do  
we have bats or something? Maybe *that* was why Ororo was sneezing, ja?  
*Bats*!"  
"Don't make me shake it out of you, elf," Scott said, his voice tired.  
"We both know how this goes. We went through it with Mr Pinchy and I'm  
in no mood to go through it again. Now. One more time--"  
{scrtch scrtch scrtch scrtch}  
"Where the heck is that noise coming from?" He half-turned, and angled  
himself to see the underside of Kurt's bed better.  
"Got your shades!" Kurt yelled, an instant before his famous  
prehensile tail snatched them off Scott's face.  
He instantly shut his eyes and swore. "*KURT*! Goddamnit, that isn't  
funny!" He'd dropped the fuzzy one in his haste to make sure he didn't  
hurt anyone. Scott slapped one hand over his eyes and felt out with the  
other. "Damnit, Kurt! When I catch you, I *swear*, you're gonna be doing  
KP and DR for a friggin' *fortnight*!"  
"Ah," said a suddenly more suave Kurt from the vicinity of his door.  
"But you're going to have to catch me, first."  
By the time Scott reached the door, Kurt had moved.  
"So tell me, Herr Einauge; how *does* a blind man catch a fuzzy blue  
elf?"  
  
It was quiet. Perhaps, were one not enjoying the first completely  
quiet read in recent memory, one might think it was *too* quiet.  
{Thud! Whump! Crash!}  
"God damnit! I'm gonna rip your fluffy tail out by the *root*! YOU  
HEAR ME?"  
"I'm not deaf; at least, not yet..."  
That steady, {thmp thmp thmp} had to be Kurt literally bouncing off  
the walls.  
_Odd,_ thought the Professor. _I thought we got *rid* of all the red  
Kool-aid..._  
"You give those back *right* now, or I *swear*, I'm just going to open  
my eyes on you!"  
"Ah, ah, ah... Temper, temper."  
"Elf!" Logan yelled. "Quit horsing around with the kid's shades!"  
"Hey, come on, Herr Logan. It's not as if he doesn't have his visor."  
"Damnit!" {smack} "I completely forgot..."  
"Ha ha!" said Kurt. "Dummkopf."  
Xavier sighed. So much for peace and quiet... He'd give it until there  
was some *real* property damage before he sorted it out. After all,  
Scott desperately needed the practice on his people skills.  
Charles went back to his book, only to discover that he'd suddenly  
acquired a novel bookmark.  
"mew?"  
There was a very small calico kitten sitting on his Terry Goodkind  
novel. She looked as surprised to be there as Charles was of seeing her.  
Suddenly, Professor Charles Xavier didn't need to be a telepath to know  
what was going on.  
"So where did you come from, hm?" he absently scratched her tiny ear.  
"mew?" As far as she was concerned, she was looking for her very  
strange Mom. The one who neither smelled like cat nor people.  
Xavier sighed. _Would all students please assemble in the downstairs  
library? *NOW*._  
"Here," said Kurt, sounding defeated. "You can have your glasses back,  
now."  
"Rrrr!"  
  
"WWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"  
"*No*! You can't let them kill Tribble!"  
"HA-AAAA... *CHOO*!"  
"She's too young to die..."  
"You even *think* about it, Prof? I can make your life unpleasant,"  
said Ray. "*Real* unpleasant."  
"WAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAA... (gasp)  
AAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAA!"  
"*Jamie*..."  
Xavier absently petted the kitten. "I already know what. I have more  
than a sneaking suspicion of whom," he glared at Kurt, who hadn't looked  
up from the floor since he came in. "What I'd really like to know - and  
preferably from the guilty party - is *why*?"  
Jamie cuddled up to Jubilee and muffled his cries in her shoulder.  
Jubes, in turn, gently rocked him back and forth.  
Ororo used her latest tissue as a face mask.  
Finally, Kurt spoke up. "I couldn't leave her to die, Herr Professor,"  
he said. "She was sitting in the middle of the road. Crying for a mother  
who wasn't there."  
_Ouch,_ thought Xavier.  
"I knew about the rules. I *know* about the rules. There was just - no  
other choice. I looked, I swear." Kurt's hand wiped his eyes. "I went to  
three pet shops. They said she was too young for them to take. I went to  
six vets. No-one wanted her. They even offered - Herr Professor, they  
just wanted to put her to sleep! I - I couldn't. Not after I'd just  
saved her..." He sighed. "At the last vet, I asked them what I had to do  
to look after her properly. To be a foster-Mom."  
Tribble had fallen asleep in his hands. She was purring.  
Xavier sighed. He couldn't leave the little creature to die, either.  
"I'll -" _regret this later,_ "- put an ad in the paper."  
  
Free to a loving home: One calico kitten, still being weaned. Litter  
trained. Accessories incl. Call any time between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville  
555-XXXX  
  
"*Amara*..."  
"Come on, it's *perfect*," she gently stroked the little lizard  
currently clinging to her jacket arm. "Your aunt's allergic to any pet  
that sheds, correct?"  
"Pretty much," said Evan. "I'm starting to think she's allergic to  
anything *domesticated*."  
"It's guaranteed vermin free," the Princess cooed. "It doesn't bite. It  
eats insects..."  
"So does *Todd*," said Evan, "but I don't see you wanting to take  
*him* home."  
"Please," said Amara. "One is a foul, unwashed creature with no  
redeeming features and the other is a *gorgeous* liddle iguana. Ain'cha?  
*Ain'cha*? Your Aunt will *love* it."  
  
"HAAAaaaaa... *CHOO*!"  
"You have *got* to be kidding me!"  
"You try habi'g by siduses sobetibe..." {hooooonnnnnnnk}  
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAAA..."  
"*Jamie*... You haven't even *met* it, yet! Knock off the waterworks,  
willya?"  
{sniff sniff} "But I don' wanna say g'bye before I say h'llo..."  
"*Geez*..." said Ray.  
Exhibit A was now parked on the summit of the fruit bowl.  
"Does it actually *do* anything?" said Kurt. "What the heck *is* it?"  
"It's an *iguana*, you uncultured mountain-boy," said Amara. "A  
completely *harmless* baby iguana that I bought with my own money with  
*no* *refunds*."  
"HA-CHOO!" Ororo reached for another tissue. "...oooohhhhh..."  
"How could this *work*?" Demanded Evan. "The damn lizard doesn't even  
*shed*."  
"Ja," said Kurt. "*I* shed more than it does."  
"I thought you didn't like, shed."  
"My point."  
Professor Xavier just composed the next advert for the Bayville  
Herald. This time, he left it on the Institute's bulletin board in case  
anyone had anything extra to add.  
  
Free to a loving home: One baby iguana. Gender unknown. Call any time  
between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
Scott had been watching the creeping figure in the night for some  
time. For someone trying to sneak into the Institute, he was being  
*beyond* lame about it. Everyone and their baby sister could catch  
*this* guy out.  
Judging by the sillhouette, it had to be Ray. *Why* he was sneaking  
around when he had that the-world-can-go-[expletive deleted]-itself  
attitude was the question.  
The very interesting question that Scott already suspected he knew the  
answer for. Hell, he *knew* the answer for.  
Because Ray was holding a shoe box under one arm.  
Crap.  
Scott crossed the distance between himself and Ray. "Okay," he said,  
"What's the pet?"  
Ray cussed. He was an expert at it.  
"What," Scott re-iterated, "is the pet?"  
"'S just a tarantula."  
The next thing he knew, Scott was carrying on his conversation from a  
metre back. "You brought *what* into our grounds?"  
"Hey, relax. They're not *venomous*."  
"I still don't want one crawling up *my* shorts at BF in the morning."  
"As if Fuzz-butt has the cohones to actually *touch* it..."  
Scott folded his arms. "You are giving it *back*."  
"Can't," said Ray. "No refunds."  
"All right. I'll help you compose the ad." Scott sighed. "Hey, it's  
not as if Jamie was going to adopt it anyway."  
  
Free to a loving home: One live tarantula. No BS. Call any time  
between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
Jamie was minding his own business, on the way back to the Institute  
after school, when he heard something screaming.  
There's nothing on Earth that sounds as horrid as a rabbit in pain.  
Jamie winced in sympathy and, half-scared, ventured towards it to  
investigate. There was a rabbit in a vicious-looking trap, squealing in  
agony. Its leg looked broken.  
Jamie took off his sweater, the one Aunty Vera had made for him with  
"plenty of growing room" and draped it over the poor bunny.  
"It's going to be okay," he whispered to the rabbit as he bundled it  
up in the knitted garment. "I'll get you out of there."  
The bunny went still, just twitching its little nose at him as Jamie  
opened, then disarmed the trap. It didn't even twitch as Jamie scooped  
it up.  
"There we go, Mr Bunny," he soothed.  
The rabbit sneezed. It made a {psh!} kind of sound.  
"Okay, then," he said. "Pishy. It suits you. Well, Pishy, we need to  
take that leg of yours to a vet, and get you all fixed up."  
Pishy just made himself as comfortable as an injured bunny could be.  
  
"And does this -ah--"  
"Pishy," said the kid.  
"Pishy have a home?"  
The kid was starting to look a little guilty. "Um. Well. His home's  
kinda in the woods, but he's real hurt. Maybe... maybe you could kinda  
find a home for him?"  
Dr. Mame sighed. There was one like this every other week. "Kid, you  
might want to spread the word about this. You see, unless a wild animal  
that's bought in is a protected species, we can't exactly do much to  
give them a home. It's just a matter of budgets. People have hundreds of  
dollars to spare for spotted owls and bald eagles, but not one red cent  
for a bunny."  
The kid's breathing hitched. "Please don't kill Pishy? I just saved  
him..."  
"It's okay, I'll fix him up," Mame patted his shoulder. "But unless  
*you* take him home, he's not going to live for very long. We'd just  
give him to the shelter, and the shelter will only wait a few weeks,  
before-- well. You know the rest."  
The kid nodded, looking slightly bleak. "Yeah. I know."  
"Tell you what, after I'm done with his leg? I'll give you a few Bunny  
accessories, free of charge. How's that?"  
"...'kay."  
  
"...pssssst!"  
Kurt looked for the source of the noise.  
"...psssssssst!"  
*There*, just on the edge of the eastern woodlands, was Jamie and a  
suspicious-looking bundle. _Oh, *NO*..._ "Didn't you think you got into  
*enough* trouble with Herr Pinchy?"  
"This is different," hissed Jamie. "And keep your voice down."  
Kurt leaped down from his balcony rail and crossed the distance  
between the two of them. "Have you gone *mad*?" he whispered.  
"Pishy's hurt and he needs me," Jamie whispered back. "They were just  
going to put him into the system, and you *know* what that means."  
"Ja. Nobody's going to adopt a wounded bunny." Kurt sighed. He was  
going to regret this, later. "All right. I'll help you smuggle him in;  
just do me a favour and don't tattle on me later."  
"Scout's honour!"  
"Go in through the front and act *normally*," Kurt said. "I'll meet  
you upstairs by my door."  
"Thanks, Kurt," Jamie grinned. "You're the best!"  
Kurt just hoped he'd remember that, later. "Come on, little bunny," he  
cooed. "Time to go to your temporary new home."  
He crept back to the mansion, up the wall, over his balcony - always  
difficult with just three limbs to climb - into his room and, finally,  
just inside his door, lest anyone spy him with a highly illegal pet-like  
animal in his arms.  
_Who am I fooling? Jamie's already named him. He's adopted *already*._  
"Good, bunny," Kurt sighed. "You can relax, ja? It's a strange place,  
but I can guarantee the people will like you."  
Pishy bit him. Hard enough to cause pain, but not enough to draw  
blood. As a direct result, Kurt was sucking his thumb when Jamie came  
for his rabbit.  
Jamie accepted the sweater-wrapped bunny with a gleesome, "Thankyou,"  
and a double take. "Uh..." he said "Aren't you a little old for--"  
"I' bi' me," he said around his injured digit. "Onna fumb."  
"Don't be silly," Jamie petted the rabbit and cuddled it. "Rabbits  
don't bite."  
  
"Aaaaaawwwww..." Kitty squeaked. "What a *cute* little bunny-wunny."  
"His name's Pishy," said Jamie, brushing the rabbit carefully. "And if  
anyone asks, he's not really here."  
"I know the drill already," said Jubes, offering Pishy a carrot. "Does  
'oo want some lunchies? Does 'oo?"  
Pishy sniffed at the vegetable with an air of intense concentration  
and then daintily nibbled at it.  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww..." cooed Rahne, Kitty, Jubes, Amara and even  
*Rogue*.  
Jean cautiously entered to room. She was carrying a plate full of  
lettuce leaves, celery and carrots. "I *thought* something was up," she  
said. "Trust all of *you* to get in on things when small fluffy animals  
are involved."  
Rogue cautiously petted Pishy. "So *what*, miss priss? We can like  
critters if we wanna."  
"Oh, look! He's moving!" Kitty whispered. "Who do you wanna see,  
Pishy? Is it me?"  
All of the girls hunkered on the floor, cooing variations of, "C'mere,  
Pishy," at a low volume.  
Pishy finally limped into Amara's lap.  
"Ha," she said, petting the rabbit's ears. "It just goes to show that  
even dumb animals know a person of quality and *breeding*."  
Pishy had another look of intense concentration on his little fuzzy  
face.  
"*EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW*!" Amara shrieked. "He's *WEE-ING* on  
me!"  
"Keep it *down*," the rest of the girls hissed. "You want *Logan* to  
hear?"  
"But he's--"  
"SHHHHHH!"  
"It's an honest mistake," murmured Jamie. "Pishy's been going on old  
newspapers, and your slacks have a sorta newsprint look. He's just  
trying to be a *good* bunny..."  
Amara was glaring at Pishy. Pishy was glaring back. "Rabbit," she  
announced, "You're *damn* lucky that you're cute."  
Pishy dropped a few little brown pellets onto her stained pants.  
"*Damn* lucky."  
  
The tatami mat always bought back memories of Japan. Of Yuriko. Of the  
one time in his life when he thought he might find peace. Therefore, it  
was good to meditate on.  
There, kneeling on the mat and concentrating on his centre, Logan  
could put himself back in time, when life was simple. How many years ago  
was it, now? Decades? Centuries? The memory, like him, didn't age.  
Yuriko had.  
Yet here, meditating on his own, he could smell her hair, again. Feel  
the delicate tickle of falling cherry blossoms across his exposed skin.  
Suki, their cat, was sniffing at one of his toes.  
_God, when did that *cat* pass on? How long ago?_ But now, he could  
feel its little nose.  
Odd. He didn't *smell* a cat... Funny how his senses could play tricks  
on him...  
{Chomp!}  
Logan jumped up with a yawp, twirling in place and unsheathing one set  
of claws (after an abortive grab for a katana he no longer owned) to  
face his foe.  
Which was a small rabbit, now investigating the tatami mat.  
"Buddy, you chew on that, and I'm having Hasenpfeffer for breakfast."  
The rabbit twitched its nose at him, sneezed and curled up on the mat  
for a nap.  
What got Logan was how the rabbit had found *him* before 'Ro's  
allergies had found *it*. He sheathed his claws and inspected his toe.  
There was blood on the floor, but his foot was fine. Damn rodent.  
A tiny gasp betrayed Jamie Madrox, peeking in and looking horrified.  
"Come in, squirt," said Logan. "An' shut the damn door."  
Jamie obeyed, tears already beading in his eyes. "Please don't kill  
Pishy?" he begged in a whisper. "He's only just getting better."  
Logan peered at the rabbit. There was a bandage on its left foreleg,  
carefully maintained and clean. _Pishy?_ Logan wondered. _Well... from  
someone who used to own a bob-tailed cat called 'Suki', I guess there  
shouldn't be any complaints._ He picked Pishy up and inspected him.  
The rabbit glared at him with an attitude of cross-eyed beligerance  
that only rabbits were capable of. Then it bit him, sinking his teeth  
into the soft flesh between finger and thumb.  
"Pishy! Naughty bunny!" Jamie scooped the animal from Logan's grasp,  
heedless of the inherent danger from either of them. "Rabbits *don't*  
bite!"  
Pishy curled into a ball in Jamie's arms and was sweeter than honey  
for the boy. A picture of lapin innocence.   
Jamie fed him a piece of lettuce. "*Pleeeeeeaaaase* don't kill him?"  
Jamie begged. "I'm sure he thought you smelled like grass or  
something..."  
Logan sighed. "Rules are rules, Squirt," he said. "But I'll let you  
off the hook until it gets better. Or 'Ro starts sneezing. Whichever  
comes first."  
Jamie rushed forward and hugged him with a breathless, "*Thank* you,  
Mister Logan!"  
The rabbit peed on his coat. Logan could have *sworn* it was smirking  
at the time.  
  
Scott looked at the rabbit and groaned. "Oh, great. *Just* great." He  
scooped up the creature and absently petted it. "Who do you belong to,  
hm? Sam? Rahne? Jamie? Yeah, probably Jamie. He probably gave you some  
dumbass name like 'Mr Twitchy' or something."  
He held the bunny against his shoulder, where it seemed content to  
nuzzle.  
"You're damn cute, though," he said. "And Ororo hasn't had any  
reactions to you. Maybe you're the pet we've all been looking for, hm? A  
hypo-allergenic bunny..." His hands smoothed down the rabbit's fur. It  
felt *so* nice.  
{Chomp!} The bunny dug his teeth into Scott's shoulder.  
"*Ow*!" Scott dropped the rabbit and inspected the wound. The darn  
critter had eaten through his favourite sweater, *and* T-shirt before it  
dug into flesh. And, to top it all off, the rabbit had vanished.  
"Great," he muttered. "Of all the pets of all the world, *we* had to  
find a vampire bunny." He sighed and went off in search of an elementary  
first-aid kit.  
  
Hank was returning to his hobby-work of finding a cure for his hirsute  
condition after a slight adjournment to the Institute kitchens for a  
light meal and a nice hot cup of tea. The latter was firmly clutched in  
one massive paw of a hand whilst the other was occupied with an open  
copy of a treatise on spontaneous physical mutation in recorded history,  
as well as incidents in myth and folklore.  
He was well into the accounts of the only true lycanthrope - prior to  
Rahne's own, far more thorough transformation - when he encountered a  
severe problem with the traction betwixt himself and the floor,  
resulting in general instability that sent him toppling backwards to the  
terra firma.  
Translation: He slipped on something and fell flat on his ass.  
Hank's reading material sailed clear across the room. His tea didn't.  
It followed the laws of both Newton and Murphy and spilled all over his  
broad chest.  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGHHHH!"  
Hot tea and fur do not mix well.  
Swearing, Hank siezed the nearest absorbant material he could find -  
his lab coat - and attempted to mop up the spill. It was then that he  
noticed the cause of his abrupt date with Dame Gravity. The floor was  
liberally coated in a scattering of little brown pellets.  
Rabbit droppings, to be exact.  
And there, hiding under a set of shelves, was the culprit. A prime  
example of the male Oryctolagus Cuniculus - the common rabbit.  
"Terribly sorry," Hank said, daubing the last of the tea from his fur.  
"Didn't mean to startle you, but you'd understand if you ever had a hot  
beverage emptied on your person."  
The rabbit just sniffed the air.  
"So," said Hank, remaining both on the floor and conversational. "What  
happened to make you invisible to dear Ms Munroe's allergies, eh?" He  
reached a cautious hand towards the rabbit. "Mind if I have a look?" he  
cooed.  
The rabbit apparently did. It exploded out of its hiding place and  
turned into a whirling dervish of teeth and claws. By the time Hank  
managed to toss the creature out the open door, he looked as if he'd had  
a shaving accident over about thirty percent of his body.  
Hank recovered his breath as the bunny scurried away.  
"I never thought I'd believe in demonic possession," he murmured, "but  
I've seen it with my own eyes..."  
  
"Good evening, my lovelies," Ororo sang as she entered her loft. "Did  
you miss me while I was--" her loft was in a state of complete and utter  
devestation. "--gone?"  
The few pots that weren't upturned had evidently been pruned from the  
bottom up. Dirt, loam and pebbles lay scattered all over the floor.  
Plants lay everywhere like poor, green, little corpses.  
Ororo squeaked. Tears gathering in her eyes.  
Her beautiful plants.  
She recovered her wits enough to do some elementary triage, one hand  
constantly wiping her face, lest her body's saltwater poison her poor  
injured darlings. What cruel and sadistic creature could *do* such a  
thing to poor defenceless potplants?  
Outside, the wind whipped into a frenzy, and the temperature soared.  
Atmospheric humidity dropped to a stunning low.  
It is a very *bad* idea to make a weather witch angry.  
Something scurried from the cover of one pot to another. Ororo  
startled, but didn't sense anything else awry. She went back to  
frantically re-potting her darlings. A rare and delicate orchid looked  
like it had been cruelly savaged. It would take Ororo months to nurse it  
back to health. Poor dear.  
And in the corner, there was a distinct sound of mastication.  
Ororo stood and crept closer to the source of the noise. _What on  
*Earth*?_  
There was a rabbit up here. Currently attempting to dine on her prize  
aspidestra.  
Outside, the weather returned to normal.  
Ororo sighed. She couldn't very well blame a bunny for acting like a  
bunny. She scooped up the creature and braced for a sneezing attack.  
Which didn't come.  
She was halfway to the elevator when she realised as much.  
"I'm - not allergic to you," she whispered, and sniffed deeply at  
bunny fur to confirm it. "Oh, aren't you a darling?" Ororo cuddled and  
petted the animal. "The kids will be *so* pleased... Come on. I can  
introduce you to Charles."  
{piddle piddle piddle piddle}  
Ororo groaned to herself, a brand-new patch of moist warmth spreading  
into her favourite kaftan. She could *not* blame a bunny for being a  
bunny, but she *swore* she heard the little creature snickering.  
  
Things *had* to stop somewhere. So far, Pishy had eaten Ororo's  
plants, caused grievous bodily harm to Hank, ruined the clothing of  
Scott, Amara, Kitty, and Ray; messed in Rogue's makeup, caused a small  
fire - Lord knew exactly *how* - and completely devestated the Danger  
Room. It had even made an enemy out of *Kurt*, the most forgiving person  
Xavier had ever encountered.  
"WWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"  
"I'm telling you, that rabbit is *evil*," said Kurt. He was nursing a  
heavily-bandaged tail as well as several cuts, scratches, and one minor  
burn on his person. "Look what it did to my *tail*."  
"And my sweater," said Scott.  
"And like, my blouses," said Kitty.  
"And the Danger Room," rumbled Logan.  
"And my books," said Jubilee.  
"And my--"  
"*OKAY*!" said Jamie. "I get the hint." Pishy was content to sit in  
his lap, looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Jamie carried  
him over to Charles. "He's too little to go to a shelter."  
"He's fully grown," said Charles. "He just happens to be small.  
Perhaps he was the runt of the litter."  
Pishy glared hot liquid death at Charles Xavier.  
"Nobody adopts injured bunnies from shelters," said Jamie. "Can we put  
an ad up?"  
Xavier sighed. Well, it *was* accepted precedent by now. "Yes. Fine.  
I'll even let you help compose it."  
"Say 'thanks', Pishy..."  
The rabbit, once dumped on Xavier's lap, proceeded to shed all over  
his favourite shirt. Rubbing loose hairs in with every sign of glee and  
utmost contentment.  
Composing *this* ad was going to be *fun*...  
  
Free to a loving home: One male wild rabbit, rescued from trap. Mostly  
tame. Inquisitive nature and slightly temperamental disposition. Call  
any time between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
"Here y'are, Twiggy. I managed to smuggle up some food for ya."  
{ernk ernk ernk...}  
"Sam Guthrie," announced Amara, "you are - as they say - *so*  
seriously busted. Now just *what* is Twiggy?"  
Sam looked back. Darn it. He'd forgotten the door. He picked up Twiggy  
and showed her. "Twiggy's a pot-bellied piggy," he said.  
"Ew," said Amara, possibly on automatic. "Trust a filthy peasant to  
keep a filthy pig."  
"I'll have you know pigs are very clean," said Sam. "Twiggy, here, has  
even been litter-trained."  
"Even *more* information I did *not* want to know," said Amara.  
"Aw, come on," said Sam. "Pigs are brighter than your average dog,  
they're loyal and loving, more hygenic than your average cat, and they  
rarely get fleas or lice."  
Twiggy trotted over to Amara, sat, and wagged her little tail. She  
even tried to smile - always difficult for a pig to do.  
"Scratch her ear," suggested Sam. "She loves it."  
"I am not even *touching* that filthy animal."  
"*I* will," said Jamie, who had a gift for seeking out pets. He  
gleefully scratched and petted Twiggy. "Hey, there, Twiggy."  
Twiggy grunted in pleasure.  
Amara marched off, nose held high.  
  
"Oh, *peasant*," cooed Amara. "I have some information for you."  
Kurt barely looked up from his homework. It had to be something to get  
Amara to address him as 'peasant' without the usual 'stupid' in front of  
it. "What do you want, Amara?"  
"This is most amusing," she said, leaning on his doorframe. "Sam has  
managed to procure a pet that's *right* up your alley."  
"Not another dog," said Kurt. _I before E except after C... Now does  
that count with the word 'weird'? Englisch ist verwirrend. Mir raucht  
der kopf..._ "We had enough trouble with Herr Pinchy messing all over  
the place."  
Amara's voice went instantly frosty. "It's a *pig*," she said. "Barely  
distinguishable from the *rest* of you filthy peasants."  
"Says the girl whose floor hasn't been seen since she moved in," said  
Kurt, knowing full well that *his* room was impeccably neat, and  
perpetually kept that way.  
"Stupid peasant," she sniped, and went off in search of someone else  
to torment.  
Kurt went back to his homework. Ach. Spelling English was *torture*...  
Why did they have to mark him down for spelling errors? Especially the  
perfectly understandable ones like *he* did?  
  
Twiggy was a good piggie. Being a good piggie bought rewards of all  
kinds. Twiggy had learned a lot of tricks. Beg, roll-over, sit, take-a-  
bow, play-dead and, most important, hide.  
Twiggy could even do that one *before* her friends asked her to,  
because she could hear the approaching footfalls of Danger People  
coming.  
It was a funny life. There were Danger People that stopped being  
Danger People and started being friends after talking to other friends  
in urgent whispers. And there were times when there were hardly any  
friends around at all, and Twiggy had to go looking whilst also avoiding  
Danger People.  
Twiggy grunted to herself as she trotted through the bedrooms. Empty,  
empty, empty. No friends were here, and she was getting peckish. Twiggy  
wandered on. Empty, empty, empty. No friends in the bedrooms. She went  
to check elsewhere, and found nobody in the common room.  
Nobody in the theatre.  
Nobody in the kitchen (though there *was* a close call with a Danger  
Person).  
But there was someone in the library. Someone new.  
Twiggy wagged her tail and trotted up to the man in the chair with  
wheels on. He was asleep. Well, Twiggy knew how to wake up people who  
dozed over homework.  
She nuzzled his loose hand, the one that flopped a little off the edge  
of his arm-rest, sniffing and snorting at it.  
The man snickered at the sensation and woke up.  
"Good *lord*," he said.  
Twiggy sat up and begged.  
  
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAAAAAAAAAAA..."  
"So dat exblaids by sdeezi'g attag id na kidched," Ororo said, and  
blew her nose again. "HA-CHOO! HA-CHOO! HA-CHOO!"  
Sam Guthrie's bottom lip had disappeared between his teeth, and he  
looked like he was staving off tears himself. "I'm sorry, sir," he  
managed. "I thought Twiggy'd be non-allergenic. I thought she'd be a  
good pet."  
Xavier sighed. "Can she go back to where she came from?"  
"Um... no. See, I got her from a friend of mine who was moving into an  
apartment, see - and he needed to give her a good home 'cause they--"  
"Also have a 'no pets' rule..." Xavier massaged his temple. It was so  
*tempting* to give the students a subtle aversion to buying pets - but  
interfering with their minds would change who they were. He would not,  
and could not do that. All he could do was let them learn for  
themselves. "It's quite all right. I have a stock of Bayville Herald  
Classified Section submission forms in my desk. I'll put the draft up on  
the notice board."  
  
Free to a loving home: one female potbellied pig. Fully trained and  
comes with accessories, some food. Call any time between 5AM and 11PM.  
Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
Logan was hunting. He did that every now and again to satisfy his wild  
side's need to bring something down. Not that he actually *killed*  
anything. It was the hunt alone that satisfied the wild thing inside.  
And when he was hunting, he found the weirdest things. Little clues that  
some of the kids came into the west wood.  
Once, he found a stuffed animal tea party practically right next door  
to an Anne Rice novel. The mental picture that resulted almost blew one  
of Logan's gaskets. The entire scene was gone by the time Logan came  
back from *that* hunt.  
But none of the kids ever went deep enough to lose sight of something  
they could trace to the outside. Except the Elf. He never feared losing  
his way, and frequented a clearing in the depths of the west wood. It  
was where he spent the most time, 'cause it felt a little like home. It  
was also one of the few places he could do strange things with nothing  
more inquisitive than a raised eyebrow from Logan.  
So far he'd caught the Elf talking to squirrels, chipmunks, birds,  
deer, the Almighty and himself.  
Today, it was almost normal. He was Kurt, Lord of the Squirrels. Elf  
perched up on the massive rock that sat in the middle of the clearing,  
while a whole tribe of squirrels cavorted around his person.  
Elf got on well with animals, and in the odd moments while Logan was  
waiting for the kid to get on the 'phone, his parents murmured that  
their Kurti would tame *anything*.  
And considering the recent malarky with the pig, Logan felt a warning  
was appropriate.  
"Don't take any of 'em home with ya," he said.  
"Right," said Kurt. "No squirrels. Check."  
"Or chipmunks. In short - don't bring anything small and fuzzy home  
besides yourself."  
Kurt tossed him a cocky salute. "Jawohl, Herr Logan."  
Logan nodded, his personal shorthand for, "I trust you on this," and  
continued on his way.  
  
Kurt loved animals and small children. Neither had any fear of him  
whatsoever, and accepted his peculiarities without so much as a twitch.  
So, of course, he spent as much time with them as he plausibly could -  
though a few residents of Bayville thought it was strange to have a  
*male* babysitter, until he cited his practice on three younger sisters  
and proved himself reliable.  
That particular job was his primary source of income. Especially the  
Watersons and that kid with the stuffed tiger.  
Evan had growing doubts about Kurt's sexuality as a direct result, but  
still wouldn't say 'no' to sharing the wealth. But then, Evan tended to  
have a closed mind about gender roles.  
A distant noise caught his attention. The sound of an animal in pain.  
Kurt leaped free of his 'court' of squirrels and went to investigate.  
There, under the shrubbery, was a wounded raccoon. It looked like he'd  
lost an argument with a dog.  
Well, one thing life had taught him was how to patch up wounds.  
Only...  
Logan had all-but *ordered* him not to bring any animals in.  
Kurt smiled. But he hadn't told anyone *else*...  
  
"Pssssst!" A rock hit the lintel of the window. "*Psssst*!"  
Jamie looked up from his homework. "Huh?"  
Kurt's blue face appeared in the windowframe. "I said, 'pssssst'," he  
whispered.  
"What are you doing out there, Kurt?"  
"Hssssshhhh! Clappe," he hissed. "I need your help."  
"Sure." Jamie went over to the window. "What's up?"  
"See this raccoon?" he gestured with the arm that held a coat-wrapped  
bundle. "I didn't bring it in, ja?"  
"*Oh*..." Jamie leaned out and took it. "Sure thing, Kurt. I'll mind him  
while you come in."  
  
Kurt was never very good at nonchallant. He tended to act like every  
bad spy movie ever made. Or that idiot guy from _The Emperor's New  
Groove_ minus the theme music.  
"Okay, Kurt," sighed Scott. "What's going on?"  
"I didn't do anything," he denied, a little too quickly. "See? I've  
got nothing in my hands."  
"And you're missing your coat," prompted Scott.  
"I am?" he looked. "Wow. I am. Guess you don't notice when you're  
covered with fur, ja? I must have left it somewhere."  
By now, Scott recognised all the signs. "You're breaking the rules,  
aren't you?"  
"*Me*? Break the rules? I assure you mein fruend, I'm following the  
very letter of mein orders."  
Which meant that he was getting creative. *Fab*. "Which can only mean  
you're breaking the rules in new and creative ways, Kurt. Spill. What,  
exactly, are you up to?"  
Kurt's face fell. "Please, Scott... I just want to help him get  
better. A dog savaged him."  
"I should have known it was a pet," Scott muttered.  
"Nein! Not a pet. I'll return him to the wild the minute he's better.  
I'm going to be very careful, ja? Minimum human contact. And in my case,  
that hardly counts, nein?"  
That was another one of Kurt's personal trouble signs. Whenever he  
disparaged himself, things could only get worse.  
"So where's your coat, Kurt?"  
Kurt grinned. "Er. Around the raccoon."  
"You bought a *raccoon* in here?"  
"Not - exactly..."  
Scott was getting a headache. "This can only end in tears," he sighed.  
"Let's see him."  
  
The raccoon - predictably named Bandit in Kurt's absence - was asleep  
inside Kurt's coat. He merely blinked when Kurt took care of his wounds,  
a sure sign that he wasn't very well at all.  
"Oooooo..." Scott winced in sympathy. "You sure he can make it?"  
Kurt's motions looked - well - very practiced. "I've helped patch up  
worse," he said. "My pet raven at home was nearly dead before I found  
him and fixed him up. I had to feed him with an eye-dropper."  
"You have a pet *raven*?"  
Kurt tried to look innocent and failed. "Amongst other small wild  
animals, ja..." He managed a nervous giggle. "Sometimes I used to fail  
at re-introducing them to the wild. Heh."  
"Oh, brother," murmured Scott. He had a clear and precise vision of  
the future. It contained a shoulder-trained raccoon.  
  
"Shhh," Jamie cautioned in a whisper. "You've gotta be extra quiet.  
Bandit's been hurt real bad and needs his rest."  
His entourage nodded. Word like a pet raccoon gets around and Jamie,  
as Chief Conspirator, had appointed himself tour guide. Mostly because  
Kurt and Scott refused to.  
The kids had somehow decided that five was the least conspicuous  
number of people seen entering and leaving Kurt's room all at once, so  
they drew up lists of names in boxes until everyone seemed satisfied.  
This was group eleven.  
Kurt's door had developed an alarming creak of late, and everyone  
spent a moment, dreading discovery, while the metal slowly groaned about  
it's recent overuse.  
They sneaked in once the door was open *just* enough to allow them  
egress, and tippy-toed all the way over to the concealed cardboard box  
where Bandit lay.  
Or, to be more accurate, where Bandit was waiting for them. Because  
every single one of them was concealing titbits in their pockets for the  
express purpose of feeding Bandit.  
"That's a *lot* of bandages," said Amara, who'd finally surrendered to  
curiousness and agreed to go see the raccoon. Her primary excuse, of  
course, was that she'd never actually seen one before.  
"He got savaged by a dog," said Jamie. "Kurt says he's fixed up worse  
injuries, so that's okay." He bought a cookie out of his pocket and  
brushed the fluff off of it. "Here, Bandit." Jamie offered the cookie.  
Bandit took it from his hands and, sitting up and holding it in his  
front paws, ate the thing as if starving.  
Amara giggled. "No wonder the peasant prefers his company. Look,  
they're practically brothers."  
Nobody laughed. They all knew how Kurt got when he was compared to  
animals.  
Amara just vented an aggrieved sigh and offered Bandit a glazed pastry  
treat.  
Bandit ate it with every sign of relish. He ate *anything*, even a  
cooking experiment by Kitty, which proved to show his intestinal  
fortitude.  
  
Hank McCoy showed geniality the moment the fivesome exited Kurt's  
room. Underneath, he was a little upset. After the most recent goings-  
on, he'd have thought that his students could have been a little more  
trustworthy.  
"Let me guess," he said. "The ever-ebullient mister Wagner has  
introduced another small animal into our throng. Either that, or he's an  
accomplice in concealing another's pet."  
"We didn't do it," said the four kids surrounding Jamie, before they  
scattered at an appreciable speed.  
Jamie jumped backwards, into the doorframe, and posed, leags spread  
and arms akimbo, as if to stop Hank from getting in.  
Even with his fingers stretched, he barely made contact with the  
doorjamb.  
"Mister Madrox," Hank sighed.  
"I *won't* let you in," he said. "You can't make me. In fact--" He  
clapped his hands a few times, producing a blockade of clones. "--you  
can't make *us*." He chorussed.  
Hank entered Patient Understanding mode. "Jamie," he began. "We both  
know Kurt, don't we? He wouldn't deliberately break the rules unless he  
felt he was doing the right thing. I'm *positive* that the animal  
concealed within this chamber absolutely *needed* his help."  
The Jamies looked down, sighed and the original said, "Bandit got  
mauled by a dog. It looked pretty bad."  
"Ah," said Hank. "Well... given Ororo's allergies in combination with  
my medical experience, it might be advisable to let me inspect his  
dressings, don't you think?  
"Um," said Jamie, merging with his doubles. "I guess."  
Bandit looked like a very sick raccoon, despite his bright-eyed  
demeanor. There were, as the Princess had observed, a *lot* of bandages.  
All wound and tied in a professional manner.  
This spoke volumes about mister Wagner's checkered past.  
  
Anyone observing Kurt Wagner's progress home would have thought that  
the boy was a little strange. And that conclusion would certainly have  
been the understatement of the year, considering the blue, fuzzy and  
demonic reality hidden under the holographic illusion of normalicy.  
Though the casual observer would be more pre-occupied with what Kurt  
Wagner was doing with the paper bag.  
He was, apparently, picking up and saving discarded food, as well as  
whatever nuts and berries still looked edible. Every now and again, he  
would stop, and inspect the bag whilst jiggling it about. He'd stand and  
think for a minute or so, then dive off in an apparently random  
direction to repeat his motions.  
In this circuitous and apparently random way, Kurt Wagner went home to  
the Institute.  
  
He found a group of adults waiting for him. Logan looked especially  
ticked off.  
"I can return him to the wild," he promised. "I've been careful.  
*Really* careful. He should be able to go back the minute his wounds are  
better. I've been keeping contact down to a minimum, *honest*. Look," he  
offered the bag forward. "I've even been collecting stuff he'd be eating  
if he were still in the wild. There's a few little treats, but that's  
only to tempt him into eating, I swear."  
"Hardly needs tempting," said Logan. "Your little pal'll eat anything  
the other kids offer 'im."  
"Other kids?" echoed Kurt. "But - I only told Scott and Jamie. They  
knew I was trying to keep him wild. At least, I'm sure I told Scott..."  
Herr Professor hung his head. "Sometimes, Kurt, you can be too  
trusting," he said. "You're honest in your beliefs, true; but Jamie had  
just finished telling me that 'just a little' contact probably wouldn't  
hurt."  
"Ach," Kurt sighed. "That's *exactly* what happened with Schwartzi.  
Meine schwesters couldn't keep away from him. Before I knew it, he was  
shoulder-trained."  
"Schwartzi?" said Hank.  
"My raven," said Kurt. "He was hit by a car and--"  
"I've heard enough," said Herr Xavier. "You had good intentions, Kurt.  
I know this. Were it up to you, and you alone, none of us would have  
even *known* about the raccoon. Nevertheless, the damage has been done.  
Therefore, all your spare time is now to be devoted to *assisting* Hank  
in the medical care of the animal and - when the time is right - finding  
him a home."  
Kurt sighed. "Danke, Professor."  
"And, after that, one week of extra training sessions with Logan."  
Kurt startled. "Was?"  
"You *did* break the rules," Herr Professor smirked. "And disobeyed an  
order, no matter *how* creative you were about it."  
It was only fair. He hung his head. "Jawohl, Herr Professor."  
  
Assisting Hank was mostly cleaning wounds and changing bandages. Kurt  
was experienced enough with that. Both on animals *and* his own person.  
He had no squeamishness about doing what had to be done.  
Hank inspected Kurt's 'feed bag' and noted how observant he'd been  
about raccoons' omnivorous nature.  
Pity the other kids had been even more observant. Bandit now preferred  
to be hand-fed rather than forage for himself. He even sat up like a  
person would, because he'd learned that being cute got him more food.  
So much for returning him to the wild.  
  
Free to a loving home: one shoulder-trained male raccoon. Will eat  
anything. Call any time between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
"Pietro..." Evan hissed. "Where the hell are you?"  
His room had never been tidier, owing to the fact that he reasoned  
that the quickest way to find a tortoise was to clean up anything it  
could hide under.  
He made some kissing type noises. "Pie-pie. C'mon. Come to daddy."  
"Looking for this, Mr Daniels?"  
_Oh crud._ Evan turned and smiled. "I can explain," he said.  
Pietro the tortoise blinked owlishly from his new perch on Professor  
Xavier's armrest. He was savagely gumming a lettuce leaf to death.  
The Professor steepled his fingers. "Please. Do explain how you  
managed to ignore the 'no-pets' rule, Mr Daniels."  
Evan managed a sick giggle. "It's really funny. Um. See. Uh. I was  
after this pet rock. Andum... uh. I just picked him up without looking  
and it was only after I handed over my credit card that he got up and  
walked. So. Um. I tried to exchange him on the spot. Andum. Andum..."  
"No refunds, no exchanges," Xavier sighed. "I'm sure you children  
deliberately seek *out* arrangements like this *before* making a  
purchase."  
Evan blushed. "He's clean. I even made sure he's bug-free."  
"And you called him 'Pietro'."  
"Why not?" said Evan. "Just about every other tortoise is called  
'Speedy'. I just wanted to be a little bit different."  
This completely failed to amuse Professor Charles Xavier.  
"He did something, didn't he?"  
A little muscle jumped on the Professor's jaw. He was *ticked*. "I  
found your -ah- little friend attempting to become amorous with one of  
my *shoes*, Mr Daniels..."  
Oh *crud*.  
"I am *not* happy, Evan," he explained. "Every time I turn around,  
there's another animal in this house. In fact, the last person to come  
and collect an attempted pet, here asked if we were running a  
*menagerie*."  
_I am in deep. *Deep* trouble._  
"Yes," said the Professor. "You are."  
  
Free to a loving home: One male tortoise, comes with accessories.  
Ideal for breeder. Call any time between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
"Just let me ask *one* question."  
"...maaaaaahh..."  
"HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY *NUTS*?!"  
"...maaaaaahhh..."  
"It's like, an economy thing, see," said Kitty, "Beulah's like, a  
*toy* goat, so she like, won't eat too much. We can hide her like,  
outdoors so the whole allergy thing's beat. And--"  
"Maaaaaaaahhh," said Beulah.  
"--she like, totally gives milk." Kitty grinned. "It's healthier and  
everything 'cause it's fat free, see. And she like, came with  
accessories."  
"How the hell," said Scott, "did you get your hands on a fully-grown  
toy *GOAT*?"  
"SHHHHH!" The others hissed.  
"You remember the fair last week? There was this like, eco-raffle? And  
the tickets cost like, ten bucks?" Kitty giggled. "Now we know why."  
"We're dead," said Ray. "We're *soooo* dead."  
"You can't just bring a *goat* to the Institute and think you'll get  
away with it," said Jean. "Logan is going to *know*."  
"Maaaaaaahhh," said Beulah.  
"Really, really, *really* dead."  
"We *can* hide her outdoors," said Kurt. "I know a few places where even  
*Logan* won't go."  
"You certain about that, K-man?"  
"We're not only merely dead, we're really, most *sincerely* dead."  
Everyone stopped arguing to stare at Ray.  
"What?" he said.  
"As soon as Logan smells her, we're toast," said Rahne. "An' trust me,  
goat's *real* easy to pick up."  
"So am I," said Kurt, "but I've managed to disappear from him a couple  
of times."  
Jamie fed Beulah a carrot. This put an end to the get-rid-of-the-goat  
debate. Jamie's tears kind of had an effect all their own. Even the  
threat of them made the rest of the kids think twice.  
"Awright. Let's see this hide-away of yours."  
  
It was a hole in the ground. Literally. Past a wall of solid briars  
that could be climbed over in a maze of tree branches if one were light  
enough or nimble enough.  
Scott had to be teleported in after slipping and landing headfirst in  
the briar patch.  
"So what happens when it rains?"  
"Oh, this place drains really easily," said Kurt. "I've been out here  
after the worst storms and it's only been damp."  
"Oh yeah. You always manage to vanish right after getting cabin  
fever..."  
"Now we know," said Jean. "Logan never could find you until after he  
cooled down."  
"This is like, so *perfect*," Kitty chirped. "This is *way* bigger  
than the pen she was in at the fair, and it's all natural."  
"We'll have to build her a shed," said Kurt, who knew only slightly  
more about the habits of goats than anyone else. "She'll want to get out  
of the rain when it comes."  
"A few two-by-fours, a couple'a sheets of corrugated iron," said Ray.  
"We can do it. Tell Logan we're building Jamie a cubbyhouse."  
"Beulah's going to love it," Roberto grinned.  
Kurt was frowning slightly, staring at the briars. "There's something  
we're forgetting," he murmured, "but I can't put my finger on it..."  
  
"Logan?" said Charles.  
"The kids are up to somethin' again, Chuck. I can feel it."  
"A disturbance in the force?" asked Hank.  
"A sixth sense?" said Ororo.  
"Nope," Logan handed over a litre carton. "Found this in the 'fridge."  
They handed it around.  
"X-brand Goat Milk?"  
"Totally organic?"  
Hank put on his glasses, "Hand-milked from the finest and most  
intelligent toy goats with loving care. Oh dear."  
"What?"  
"Remember, Charles, when young Miss Pryde asked if she and Kurt could  
pick up her prize from the state fair's eco-raffle?"  
"Yes. I gave them my full permission."  
"You never checked what that prize was, did you?"  
Charles Xavier got a sudden migrane. "Oh *dear*..."  
"I'm gonna sniff around the grounds," said Logan.  
"I'm coming with," said Ororo. "If there's an animal in this  
Institute, you can *believe* I'll find it."  
  
Meanwhile, at the High School...  
"Hey, Freakboy!"  
{Pof!}  
Kurt was left spluttering in a cloud of white powder.  
"In interests of communal hygene, yo!"  
The Brotherhood ran off before he could even dare to open his eyes.  
And when he did, his vision was blurred with tears and he could barely  
breathe. _Ach! What *was* that stuff?_  
Amanda saw him in peril and pressed her hankerchief over his mouth and  
nose. "Here, breathe through this," then she started to sound a little  
choked, herself. "I'll get you to the office."  
  
Ororo and Logan had just found a patch of wild blackberries - that  
were threatening to take over a forested area on the grounds - when they  
got the call from Xavier.  
_There's been some trouble at the High School,_ Xavier 'said'. _Kurt's  
been hit by a powdered substance he seems to be allergic to._  
"I'll get him." Ororo sighed, "That *boy*..."  
"You an' his mother," Logan smirked. "Might as well come with and pump  
'im fer info."  
Ororo picked a blackberry and ate it as she turned towards the garage.  
"Honestly," she mused. "I'm starting to think Kurt is a trouble-seeking  
missile."  
Logan laughed at that. "At least *some* of it ain't his own fault. Be  
glad o' small mercies."  
"Very small mercies," said Ororo. "Very small, indeed."  
There was nowhere to park at Bayville High, so Ororo was forced to  
circle the block until Logan retrieved Kurt.  
  
Elf was absolutely *covered* in white powder, as well as gasping and  
wheezing. One of his hands held a gluey solution of the stuff,  
indicating that someone had tried to wash it off and had failed in a  
rather spectacular way.  
Logan took one snort, sneezed, and used his own hankerchief as a mask.  
"Good *God*, Elf, what in hell'd they throw at you?"  
Kurt shrugged. Then he coughed so vivolently that Logan practically  
had to carry him.  
"I hope those Brotherhood kids are getting detention for this," he  
told the secretary.  
"Oh, believe me, they are," said Doris. "And the threat of a lawsuit  
wouldn't hurt, either."  
Logan smirked under his improvised mask. "I'll think about it."  
The trouble really started after he piled the Elf into the backseat.  
"Awright, let's get this mess up to Hank and he can--"  
"HA-AAA... *CHOO*!"  
"'Ro?"  
"HA-AAA*CHOO*!"  
"Are you all--"  
"HA-AAA*CHOO*! HA-AAA*CHOO*! HA-AAA*CHOO*!"  
"I'll take that as a 'no'," Logan sighed. "Shove over, I'm drivin'."  
"HA-AAA*CHOO*! HA-AAA*CHOO*! HA-AAA*CHOO*! HA-AAA*CHOO*! HA-AAA*CHOO*!  
HA-AAA*CHOO*!" Ororo groaned.  
"Buckle up," Logan told his passengers. "I'm puttin' th' foot down."  
  
"Fascinating, fascinating..." Hank pored over his read-outs. Both his  
clients were half-asleep and loggy with antihistamines, and one was  
wearing an ill-fitting hospital gown. "Absolutely *fascinating*."  
"Do we ged ad egspladatiod or whad?" Ororo croaked.  
"You are *not*, as it turns out, allergic to domesticated Fauna."  
"You'b godda be kiddig be..." Another tissue was used and tossed in  
rapid succession. "I'be *always* beed allergig to adibals."  
"No. You've been allergic to flea powder."  
"Urgh?"  
"The cheaper it is, the more drastic your reactions, I'm afraid," Hank  
showed her the chemical analysis. "And *this* stuff is as cheap as they  
come."  
"Good grievh... I guess dat egsplaids da raccood."  
Kurt blinked as the information reached him. "Do I gotta sleep  
outside, now?"  
"No... A few decent baths will cleanse the lingering trace amounts  
from your person." Hank smiled, "Fortunately for you, you *like* baths."  
"Sehr gut."  
"Now we can get on with the business of locating the *goat*." Hank  
angled a glare at Kurt.  
Kurt yawned. "Ach... tired. Can't think."  
The trouble with Kurt was, it wasn't always easy to tell if he was  
avoiding an issue or not. Hank had to give him the benefit of the doubt.  
  
The thing Kurt was forgetting was that the briar patch wasn't really a  
briar patch. It was a blackberry patch.  
Three guesses what goats love to eat, and the first two don't count.  
While the adults were occupied with Kurt and flea powder, Beulah was  
eating as only a goat can.  
Goats *love* blackberries.  
And goats love to escape their pens, so they have a sixth sense that  
detects thin spots. Therefore, it shouldn't be *too* much of a surprise  
that Beulah was chewing her way straight through the thinnest point of  
the blackberry patch.  
She was a very happy goat.  
  
Kitty Pryde simply phased through the briars in a straight line  
between Beulah's 'pen' and the Institute's mansion.  
"Beulah," she sang as she emerged. "Time to get *milked*..."  
But Beulah wasn't there.  
_Oh heck. *JEAN*!_  
_Ow. What?_  
_I can't find Beulah!_  
_Oh heck..._ Jean's fear instantly transmitted across the telepathic  
ether. _Emergency meeting. *Now*. In the common room. Act casual._  
Kitty decided to hide the bucket in Beulah's shed. It would, after  
all, be kinda hard to explain.  
  
"Jamie, you've gotta be like, totally brave, okay?"  
Jamie's bottom lip instantly started trembling.  
"Beulah's missing."  
"Logan?" Jamie squeaked.  
"She's just *missing*..." said Kitty. "There's no signs of violence or  
like, foul play. Maybe she's like, hiding in the briars."  
"Blackberries," said Rahne.  
"Whatever."  
"*Blagberries*?" said Kurt. He looked like he'd had the headcold of  
the century. "Oh ndo!"  
"What?" said Kitty. "Like, what's wrong with blackberries?"  
"Goads *ead* blagberries! Beulah's beed eadi'g her owd pedh!"  
Hank entered the room and a suspicious silence decended like a brick.  
"Ah. There you all are. I've found your goat."  
"Don't let Mister Logan kill her?" Kitty begged, "We think she's going  
to be a mommy."  
"I know," said Hank. "I came across that information independantly and  
- on that note - you all owe me a new matress and bedclothes."  
Click.  
"Eeeeeeeeeyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeuuuuuuuuwwwwwww..." the kids chorussed.  
"The *good* news is that Ms Munroe is not allergic to your pets--"  
"*WHAT*?"  
"--but rather allergic to cheap brands of flea powder. They seem to  
contain an allergen that effects some mutants."  
"Does that mean we can keep Beulah?"  
"No. The bad news is that you all still broke the rules, in attempting  
to keep a pet without permission. We will have to give Beulah and her  
kids away."  
Kitty started counting in her head as Jamie sniffled. _Five. Four.  
Three. Two..._  
"WWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!"  
_One._  
  
Free to a loving home: One female goat and twin kids. Accessories  
included. Mom gives good milk. Call any time between 5AM and 11PM.  
Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
Things were quiet for a fortnight. Mainly because everyone under  
twenty was grounded *and* on parole. It was a time of respite and relief  
for the adults in general, and Ororo specifically.  
She wandered the halls with a slight smile on her face and inhaling  
through her nose, just because she could.  
Hank spent a majority of his hours studying flea powders and their  
effects on mutantkind.  
The teaching body at Xavier's Institute were only slightly alarmed  
that nothing seemed to happen after that fortnight. The kids were models  
of proper and normal behaviour.  
Until the night of the big thunderstorm.  
  
It was, to use Ray's terminology, pissing down. Fat, heavy, icy drops  
thundered from above like wet missiles of doom. Trees whipped and tossed  
in the gale-force winds. Lightning crashed into the night so often that  
it was like a strobe light.  
Kurt was laboring through the lot with one hand in front of his face,  
more than glad his feet let him stick to the slick surface of the road.  
Even though it was supposed to be broad daylight, the storm made it  
black as pitch.  
Cars caught out in the weather had stopped where they were, waiting  
for conditions to become safe again. Kurt had no such options and, since  
the rain was so thick, they couldn't see him anyway.  
He was never happier to have his night senses.  
Lightning chopped the branch off a tree, up ahead, adding a small fire  
to the list of woes before the incessant blatter of rain put it out.  
There was something alive trapped under the tree limb.  
_Oh hell._ Kurt thought, fighting towards the downed branch.  
It was an owl.  
Kurt, being a part-time farm-boy, had a lot of love for owls. They  
kept the mice down and, he had to admit, they made nice company.  
He took off his sopping overshirt.  
"Shhh..." he soothed, though he was inaudible above the tempest. "It's  
all right. I know how to help you." He gently wrapped the bird and  
extracted it from the branch.  
The owl almost instantly quieted, as if it knew he was safe.  
Sheltering the bird under his body, Kurt made all reasonable speed  
towards the Institute. He couldn't 'port, generally because lightning  
storms played hob with his navigational abilities. Something about  
electromagnetic discharge.  
And they gave him headaches.  
He only began to doubt what he was doing once inside the Institute  
gates. Then it occurred to him. There was one person who was bound to  
understand and let him keep things under wraps so that the owl could fly  
free.  
Professor Xavier.  
  
Breakfast, the next morning.  
{Snap!}  
"All right! Mice!" Kurt leaped from his place at the table, retrieved  
the mousetrap, replete with its little corpse, and bamfed away.  
He was back in a minute and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.  
_Okay. That was weird,_ thought Scott. He went back to his Choco  
Chex(tm) just a little creeped out.  
Then Ororo came in with another trap. "Here, Kurt. Courtesy of my  
plants."  
"Danke!" {Bamf!} Another minute, and {Bamf!} he was back with the  
empty trap.  
"Is there like, a science fair on that I like, don't know about?"  
asked Kitty.  
"Something like that," said Kurt. "Very hush-hush."  
"All right," allowed Rogue. "But if I find so much as *one* dead mouse  
anywhere near me? You're dead meat."  
"Trust me. The mice are not your problem." At Scott's level glare, the  
elf added, "Or anyone else's either."  
"Leave him alone," warned Logan. "It's above board an' none o' yer  
business."  
Of course, the instant adult supervision had gone, this lead to  
immediate speculation.  
All eyes turned to the fuzzy elf.  
"*Well*?" said Evan.  
Kurt was a picture of innocence, albeit well-forged with lots of  
practice. "Mrf?" he said around a mouthful of eggs, bacon, sausages and  
approximately half a bagel.  
"What's with the mice?" said Rogue.  
"Urmf umf. Mrf urf," said Kurt, industriously chewing as if to prove  
his point.  
"Jean?" said Scott.  
"He's blocking," said Jean. "And he's getting very *good* at it."  
Kurt innocently drank a sip of milk.  
"Okay. Twenty questions time," said Kitty. "Are these mice for a  
prank?"  
Kurt emphatically shook his head.  
"I *knew* you were up to something!" Evan crowed, reasoning that flat  
denial was the best admittance of guilt ever.  
"I'm not up to anything," said Kurt, mouth miraculously clear. "Those  
mice are never going to be seen again. And that's final."  
  
"Mice?"  
"Seriously," said Kitty. "Mice. Dead mice. He vanishes with them and  
comes back and you know the really weird thing?"  
Lance could have personally cared less, but dirt on X-geeks was dirt  
on X-geeks. "What?"  
"He's *locked* his *door*. He like, *never* locks his door. Well,  
there like, *was* this time someone - not me! Like, put 'nair' in his  
shampoo? But that was only like, twenty-four hours. This is like,  
*three* *days*. What could he like, possibly want to hide in three  
days?"  
"A mouse fetish?" Lance blurted.  
"*EEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW*!!" Kitty shrieked. "That is like *way*  
too sick! Ew! Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew *EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWW*!" She  
squirmed and screwed her face up and flailed at the very thought.  
"Sorry," Lance blushed. "It's Pietro, I swear. The guy's the most  
sick, twisted bastard I've ever heard. Trust me, you do *not* want to  
know about the puppet shows..."  
"Ew," said Kitty. "I like, heard *more* than enough from Rogue. I  
like, couldn't look at a carrot for like, a *month*."  
"Ew," said Lance. He popped a Tic Tac. "Mind if I change the subject?"  
"Like, puh-*lease*..." Kitty giggled.  
  
"Yo, teach," said Evan.  
"Yes?" said Mr H, who was subbing Science, now.  
"Just how many things can you do with a dead mouse?"  
Mr H got the incredibly perplexed look of someone conversationally  
struck from deep in the left field. "*What*?"  
"A good buddy of mine is collecting dead mice," said Evan. "Kid you  
not. And we're all going nuts trying to figure what he's doing with  
'em."  
Mr H shook his head. "I take it your friend hasn't been forthcoming  
when you enquired politely."  
"He said it was top secret."  
"Hm. Well, there's not very much to a mouse... He could be practicing  
dissection... taxidermy... collecting the skeletons, the skins...  
preserving the organs..."  
"No soap, teach. He only takes the mice. Nothing else."  
Mr H got the classic now-what-the-hell? expression so familliar  
amongst the Institute students for the past week.  
"And newspaper," said Evan. "Just mice and the odd old newspaper."  
"I'm sorry, Mr Daniels," Mr H sighed. "I can't think of anything off  
the top of my head. Sorry."  
"Thanks anyway, teach."  
  
"Now what in hell's he doing?"  
"He's taking a brown bag into the woods, what's it look like?"  
"But - we all just had lunch..."  
Rahne approached in wolf form and changed so quickly that nearly  
everyone was covered in shed fur. "Guys! Ye won't believe it! I got a  
whiff of the bag! It's full o' *mice*."  
"*WHAT*?" Scott blurted. "Why the hell would he be brown-bagging  
*mice*?"  
"Well, they are a right good snack," said Rahne, then covered her  
mouth. "Erm. I mean. When yer a wolf..."  
"Do *not* go there, girlfriend," said Jubes. "I just hope you brush  
afterwards. Yicht."  
Everyone suddenly got contemplative.  
"You don't suppose he *is* - youknow - *eating* them?" said Scott.  
There was another silence as various stomachs began to churn.  
"Well," Jean allowed. "Youknow. Being a mutant and all. Sometimes you  
- youknow - crave weird things. Remember the grape jelly s'mores?"  
"Or the beet'n'pickle sandwiches," said Jamie.  
"But *mice*?" said Evan. "I just want to know two things on that one,  
'kay? 'How' and 'why'."  
Kitty made a face. "Gyeurgh. The more you think about it, the grosser  
it gets."  
There was another contemplative silence.  
"...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*eeewwwww*wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..." they  
chorussed.  
"Poor guy," said Evan. "I mean, he's already touchy about the fur. And  
the funny little noises. Can you imagine what something like this must  
be *doing* to K-man? C'mon. Try to chill out about it. He's still the  
dude we know and love. Right?"  
"There's nout wrong with eatin' mice," said Rahne. "I do it all the  
time an none o' ye think any the less o' *me*."  
"Yeah, but you're - youknow - canine," said Jamie. "Half the time."  
"It's still me," said Rahne. "An' it's still Kurt. Just 'cause he has  
a need for mice doesna make 'im any less our friend."  
"Right," said Evan. "We should be supportive, youknow? Next week? It  
could be one of us."  
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeewwww..." said Kitty. "Like, no offense, but I hope  
*never* to me."  
"Well, it *is* happening to him," said Scott. "Come on. Show a little  
team spirit. How many times has Kurt been there for us?"  
A lot of heads turned down.  
"Right," said Scott. "I'm going down there and letting him know he's  
still my pal. Who's coming with?"  
  
Kurt stopped the minute he saw the crowd. _Uh oh. *Now* what?_  
"Uhm," said Scott. "Look. Um. We know there's probably - youknow -  
stuff going on and everything..."  
"Stuff that isn't always easy to talk about," continued Evan. "And -  
um- youknow. Whatever it is..."  
"No matter *how* disgusting," said Kitty.  
"You're still our friend," said Jean. "And any time you want to share,  
you can feel free to talk to us. To any of us. Any time."  
Kurt gave them his best hairy eyeball. "Uh. Ja. Right. Danke." He  
edged around them and made a break for his room.  
Things were going *insane* around here.  
  
"Um..." said Rogue. "That was supposed t' be the heartwarming moment  
when he tells all and we still love him, right?"  
"Yeah," said Scott. "What was up with *that*?"  
"Ah think he might be readin' a different script," said Rogue.  
"Yeah?" said Evan. "Which one?"  
"The one where *we're* all nuts and what *he's* doin' is perfectly  
normal."  
"Excuse me, but like, *what* 'perfectly normal' thing can you do with  
like, *dead* *mice*?"  
She had to admit, they had her on that one.  
  
One week later, Evan was completely broken of blindly snaffling his  
lunch from other people's bags by the inadvertant discovery of a tiny,  
furry corpse.  
"Uargh! Dude... *Sick*!" He dropped the mouse and wiped his hands on  
his shirt. "You're bringing them to *school*, now?"  
"This has *got* to stop somewhere," muttered Scott.  
"I agree," said Jean. "Kurt. Please. Just tell us what you're doing  
with the mice?"  
Kurt retrieved the mouse. "I'm feeding them to Merlin."  
The rest of the table spent a minute in complete crogglement.  
"Okay," Rogue drawled. "Informative, yet completely useless. Who or  
*what* is 'Merlin'."  
Kurt sighed. "I really hoped I wouldn't have to do this," he said.  
"You might want to put your fingers in your ears." Then he stuck a  
finger and a thumb in his mouth and blew a glass-shattering whistle.  
A minute after everyone got their hearing back, there was an owl on  
Kurt's arm. Kurt was feeding it a mouse.  
Merlin, for the record, was mostly white, with little grey flecks over  
most of its body. Closer examination would reveal those grey flecks were  
delicately striated grey feathers.  
"Gut Merlin," Kurt murmured. "Gut knabe."  
Merlin squeaked at them, then sidled up to Kurt's shoulder.  
Kurt sighed in resignation. "I've been trying to get him further  
afield, but he just keeps coming back to me. And I was *really*  
careful."  
And then, the sight of a real live owl on a student body drew the  
inevitable crowd.  
"Oh *wow*!"  
"Is it yours?"  
"Is it German?"  
"Can I feed it?"  
"Can I pet it?"  
"Can I pet it?"  
"Can I pet it?"  
"You playing 'Harry Potter' on us?"  
"The owl's supposed t' be *white*, Wagner."  
"Does it bite?"  
Kurt moaned to himself. "So much for a low profile..."  
  
EXTINCT? said the headline of the Bayville Herald. There was a large  
photograph of Kurt with Merlin clinging to his wrist.  
The rest of the article went on; _In a scene reminiscent of J.K.  
Rowlings' _Harry Potter_ books, Kurt Wagner, student of Professor  
Charles Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, introduces his owl,  
Merlin, to the press._  
_This might not be impressive unless one realises that the Grey  
Speckled Owl has been declared extinct for twenty years._  
_The last official sighting of a Grey Speckled Owl was in 1982, when a  
domesticated cat bought home the remains of what was believed to be the  
last of the species. Many ornithologists claim that the owl's innate  
trust of the unknown was to blame for its downfall; yet this  
adaptability has proven to be a survival trait._  
_Kurt Wagner, 16-year-old high school student, rescued the owl during  
the record downpour a fortnight ago. Merlin was not seriously injured,  
we are told, but the bird refused to leave his rescuer's side._  
_"I tried everything I could think of," said Kurt, a native of  
Germany. "And I've had a lot of experience rehabilitating animals to the  
wild. But Merlin just wouldn't go back."_  
  
"The rest of it's fluff and blather," summarised Logan. "Yer gonna be  
popular with the ladies for a while, Elf."  
Kurt didn't appear to be much cheered by that news. "Mmm."  
Logan decided not to make any lewd jokes about wands. "Awright. Spill.  
What's eatin' ya?"  
"He was going to be free," said Kurt. "I wanted him to fly wild where  
he belonged and - now he's an *exhibit*."  
Oh. *That*. Yeah. "Not exactly," said Logan. "Buncha bird nuts are  
tryin' t' find his nesting grounds so they can protect it an' all that  
junk. Merlin's gonna be fine. They'll see to it."  
"They'll put a *cage* around him."  
"Fence," corrected Logan. "Keep the cats an' dogs out, let the people  
in. Let the owls fly free."  
"But he's *not* free," said Kurt. "He's half tame. More than half  
tame. And it's my fault."  
Logan sighed. "Kid? I don't often say this, but--" he sighed. "You  
*did* a good thing. Any more argument from you an' I might start getting  
physical."  
Kurt giggled at that. Weird kid. "Dankeschoen, mein Herr."  
  
Somehow, they managed to survive the media attention intact, and  
Bayville now had large tracts of woodlands swarming with ornithologists,  
naturalists and, oddly enough, entomologists. Apparently, the Grey  
Speckled Owl ate an obscure insect that also hadn't been positively  
identified since 1984.  
And several enterprising souls were attempting to tame Grey Speckled  
Owls as pets, since they were now, officially, all the rage.  
Kurt got back to being an ordinary student as quickly as he possibly  
could. He treated spectators as if they were slightly stupid, and told  
anyone willing to listen that what he'd done with Merlin was no big  
deal. After all, he *did* have two wolves, five deer, twenty squirrels,  
fifty chipmunks, three owls, forty doves, ten pigeons and a raven at  
home.  
Charles started seriously considering nominating Kurt's parents for  
sainthood. They'd earned it.  
And now things were quiet.  
Charles remembered the incident with the kitten and immediately put  
his book down. There were no kids upstairs. None downstairs. A quick  
security check revealed that there were only adults indoors.  
_Uh oh..._ Charles sent his mind out. The student body of the  
Institute was clustered around the west wood. Minds hushed and excited.  
Anticipatory.  
Charles wheeled himself out there as quickly as he possibly could. He  
knew what was going to happen. The only questions were how big, and how  
spectacular?  
He rounded the last turn of the winding path to be confronted by the  
entire cadre of his students petting a deer. Kurt was holding her snout,  
and gently coaching them on how to approach the animal. Jamie was  
feeding her an apple.  
They all stopped and stared at him.  
"She's not really a pet," said Kurt. "She's still wild. I just -er-  
got her used to people..."  
Xavier sighed, turned, and headed back indoors. He composed an ad for  
the Bayville Herald, and posted it on the Institute notice board. It'd  
never run, but it made him *feel* a lot better about things.  
  
Free to a loving home: Fourteen teenaged mutants, mixed genders, ages.  
Come with accessories and feeding instructions. Willing to split up.  
Call any time between 5AM and 11PM. Bayville 555-XXXX  
  
~End!~ 


End file.
